(I work in a place that is well known for sausage rolls and coffee. All is going well for a quiet Tuesday afternoon and I haven’t served a customer in about five minutes. In comes an old fella who I don’t recognize as a regular. He places a sandwich on the counter. I ask in my usual friendly way, as upselling is an unfortunate part of the job:)

Me: “You can get a hot or cold drink with that for an extra 40p.”

Customer: *replies, colder than the British weather this week* “Did I say I wanted a drink?”

Me: *a little taken aback by his sour tone* “No, but I am required to ask.”

Customer: *grumbling hard* “I don’t want a d*** drink. All you want is to make me spend more money. I don’t like spending money.”

(Makes me wonder why he bothered coming in to buy anything in the first place, but I don’t say it aloud.)

Me: “Okay, then. That’s [price] on its own.”

Customer: *with an attitude like a toddler and obviously trying to pick a fight* “No, I don’t want it now. I wouldn’t feed it to the rats.”

Me: “That’s fine.”

(He huffs off and leaves. I am too caught off-guard to even make a witty comment about the ironic situation. About thirty minutes later, he returns. Luckily, my boss is on a break and I’m the only one here; otherwise, I’d never normally be this naughty.)

Customer: *a little less bitter now* “Two sausage rolls.”

Me: “You want sausage rolls from here? I’m sorry, but I can only give these to the rats.”

(I eventually got a small apology out of him — I was astounded! — and the rest of the transaction went all right. Just goes to show that sometimes it’s good to be a little cocky back, even if you’re not supposed to.)

(I have just been promoted to a manager position at my hotel. Every shift, one manager is the designated manager on duty, meaning they will be in charge of fielding any serious guest complaints, and they are technically in charge of the hotel for their shift. On one of my first MOD shifts, a guest comes to the desk to complain.)

Guest #1: “We’re sitting over by the bar and there are bugs all over our table! It’s disgusting!”

Me: “Oh, my goodness! I am so sorry. Let me come over right away!”

(I follow the guest over to her group. I can see no insects anywhere, except for a single one that a guest has trapped under a glass. Being new to this, I am foolish enough to be relieved.)

Me: “Oh, well, I am so sorry about that! It must have come in from outside and—“

Guest #2: “I don’t believe that crap for a second!”

(I am just puzzled. The area they are sitting in is only about 30 feet from the main entrance, which is constantly opening and closing. It didn’t even occur to me to think that someone would question the logic.)

Me: “Sir?”

Guest #2: “That is a roach. And if there’s one of them, there are hundreds.”

(His party is all nodding in agreement, and I look down at the bug in question. While I don’t know exactly what it is, it’s about the size of my pinky nail, and very light tan. Not a roach, in short.)

Me: “Erm… Well, I am not really qualified to identify the insect, sir, but I am fairly sure it just came in from outside. However, if there is anything I can do for the inconvenience—“

Guest #2: “I want a free drink.”

Me: “I’ll be happy to give you a free drink voucher, sir. Just be aware that our bar closes in about twenty minutes, so you might want to be quick about using it.”

Guest #2: “Whatever.”

(I got him his free drink voucher, and took the bug away and squished it, tossing it in the trash. I thought no more about it. The next day, the bartender told me the guy came up ten minutes after close to try and use his voucher.)

(I work at a gift shop for a zoo. Today, a young boy, probably around four or five, enters with his parents. The mother tells him he can get one thing, and after a little bit of looking around, the boy reaches for a plush mermaid.)

Boy: “I want this one!”

Mom: “No, you’re a boy. Pick something for boys.”

Boy: “But I want a mermaid!”

Mom: “I said no. You’re a boy. Pick something else!”

(The boy is clearly upset, and his mother is starting to look angry. The boy looks down at the mermaid in his hands again.)

Boy: “But I want this one…”

(The mother takes the mermaid out of his hands, throws it on the shelf, and grabs him by the arm.)

Mom: “Fine. You’re not getting anything, then!”

(She drags the young boy out of the gift shop, and he’s now starting to cry. The father, who was watching all of this in silence with an equally angry look on his face, waits for the mother to get out of view, picks the mermaid up, and comes to my register to pay for it. Before I can say anything, he whispers quietly enough that none of the other children in the shop can hear him.)

Dad: “I’ve had it with that b****. If my son wants a mermaid, my son’s getting a f****** mermaid.”

(He apologized for his wife causing a scene, and I gave him my employee discount for being such an awesome father.)

(Our mall is full of kiosks with people trying to sell random makeup brands, cell phone accessories, etc. I don’t begrudge anyone doing their job, and I understand a lot of them are under pressure to make sales. However, some of them REALLY need to work on their pitch. One day, I’m walking past a kiosk where a woman is trying to sell expensive skin cream.)

Saleswoman: “Here you go, ma’am! Sit down right here.” *pointing to her chair arranged in front of her mirrors*

Me: *smiling and shaking my head* “No, thanks. I’m not interested.”

Saleswoman: *pulls a concerned, comically disgusted face and speaks in a tone of voice as if I were on my deathbed* “Oh, ma’am, I have to ask… What do you use for your facial cream?”

(Maybe I should have been offended or something, which is what my husband told me, but it was just SUCH an incredibly bad attempt to, I don’t know, neg me into a sale or whatever that I just burst into disbelieving laughter at her and kept walking. She turned bright red and glared at me. Hey, maybe I COULD use a fancy skincare regimen, but with a sales pitch like that, there was no way I was going to buy it from her.)

(I am walking across the floor when an elderly man approaches me, holding a photo. He is very gruff throughout the entire interaction; I am very chipper, as that is my permanent state of being while at work.)

Customer: “Can you help me?”

Me: “I certainly can. What do you need?”

Customer: “I need to copy this picture.”

(I can see this picture was taken by a professional and has their copyright on it. I know that we can copy these pictures only if it’s been 70 years since the photographer’s death, but this picture is not that old.)

Me: “I see. When was it taken?”

Customer: “Ten years ago. Why?”

Me: “I see. Well, it’s got a copyright there, and it was taken by a professional, so we can’t legally copy them.”

Customer: “I’ll just cut it off, then.”

Me: “It was still taken by a professional.”

(He visibly starts getting angry, and waves the picture around.)

Customer: “Then where can I take it?”

Me: “I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.”

Customer: “Well, do you have a cutter?!”

Me: “I don’t have one customers can use.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir—”

Customer: “No, you’re not!”

(And with that he marched away, while inside my head I definitely rescinded the “sorry.”)

Related:
The Customer Is Not Always Copyright, Part 3
The Customer Is Not Always Copyright, Part 2
The Customer Is Not Always Copyright